


Definitely not Derek

by elliottlukas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, M/M, Multi, Rave, Sciles, illuminated, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliottlukas/pseuds/elliottlukas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Illuminated - s03e16 <br/>Stiles, Scott and Lydia are throwing a rave in Derek's old loft. Since he's not even in Beacon Hills anymore, it's the perfect place to have a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definitely not Derek

**Author's Note:**

> ~this fic includes drugs and alcohol and sex and language~  
> -i do not own anybody at all, in fact this fic was inspired by a snippet someone wrote on a gifset on tumblr but i forget who you are but im sorry if youre mad or anything-  
> im really bad at writing stories but omfg i couldnt help it so here you go i hope you like it

They had planned it a week before. The space was empty, it was the perfect venue, and he wouldn't come back, there's no way. So they put some blacklights up, put all their money together for liquor, and shoved some speakers here and there. The ambiance was dark, but welcoming, with fake webs in the corners, DANGER tape all over the place and a fog machine spewing clouds around everyone's feet. It was Halloween after all. And It was the perfect venue.

-

Trying to pick his nicest T-shirt that would glow in blacklight, Stiles frantically threw shirts throughout his room. There was the orange and blue striped shirt, hanging from the lamp, and a plain black shirt draped over his mirror, and piles upon piles of plaid button ups blanketing the ground. 

"Oh my god, fuck it, I'll play it safe in a white v-neck." He hauled the blue shirt he was wearing over his head, flinging it onto the bed, and quickly pulled the white v-neck onto his torso.   
his door cranked open, and scott stepped in, "Are you ready yet?" he questioned, "I've been waiting downstairs for like an hour." 

"Yeah, I'm ready,"

"Finally,"

"Shutup, Scott, you'd need an hour to get ready to look this beautiful, too," He boasted, "now. Who's ready for the Halloween Hodown?"

Scott raised his brows, "seriously?"

"seriously,"

"I'm ready for the Halloween hodown,"

"Yeah! That's the spirit, buddy!" Stiles grabbed Scott by the shoulders and guided him out of the room. 

Neither Scott or Stiles had a girl to go with, so naturally they show up together, get drunk together, puke together, and pass out together. That's what best friends are for. They've done this ritual more times than they can count, not to mention they have nights they don't even remember happening. They hoped tonight would be one of those nights.

They got to the parking lot, stopped with a screech perfectly in the stall, hopped out of the Jeep slamming the doors, and buzzed up to the loft where Lydia was waiting for people to show. Someone had to prep the last minute details. 

The door to the loft was ajar. Stiles jerked the door to the side, revealing the mass of paint plastered figures with masks over their eyes, grinding on each other, some touching. it was hot inside, body heat raging through the floor, and it was dark despite the gleam of the paint, some splattered on the walls and floor, carefully drawn designs on faces and bodies nobody could tell apart. Your markings were you. the only distinction. Stiles slid his mask over his eyes, scoping the crowd, and picked up a paintbrush, green, painting bands around his forearms, then orange, making arrows on his hands. Yellow for his cheeks, plain lines tracing his contours. The stench of the paint wasn't unbearable but it wasn't pleasant, it lingered in your nose, left scent scars in your cavities. 

Scott followed Stiles' lead, placed a mask over his face, but let somebody paint him in red and orange. The second he was covered in it, Stiles grabbed his hand and led him into the crowd. 

-

"Scott I swear to god, I'm gonna kiss, fuck, or suck the first person that looks at me with bedroom eyes. And I also swear that if you give me bedroom eyes as a joke you wont be laughing you'll be cumming."

Scott dared Stiles, giving him a smokey eye.

"Don't tempt me, unless you want a blowjob,"

"not from you man, i'm cool," said Scott chuckling.

Stiles gave him a grin and shoved himself through the ocean of skin towards the bar. "Tequila and lime," Stiles called as he waved the bartender over. he licked his thumb, sprinkled some salt and had the shot in hand. Salt, tequila, lime. After knocking it back like a champ, he ordered another one and a margarita. He slugged his second shot, and sipped the raspberry slush drink back in under five minutes. 

The bass boomed throughout the loft, rumbling the walls, making the liquor in the bottles ripple, pounding through everyone's bloodstream. His boots were heavy, legs like led, and his arms felt like there were weights tied to them. It was rushing through him fast, through every limb, pulsing through his temples and fingers. He sat at the bar, called for another three shots, and a drink. 

"Paid for by a 'secret admirer'"

Stiles swivelled his head around, "what, who?"

"Told me not to tell you,"

"Great, a guessing game," Stiles took a sip from the fruity slush, then took shot after shot after shot. Tequila had always been his drink, unlike most.

-

Scott scoped the floor for Allison, or Lydia, or anybody really. By the pillar he saw isaac grinding himself onto some girl, running his hands up her shirt, roaming her body. Scott felt Isaac's fingertips like they were running over his ribs, not hers. He felt the heat of his hands slip inside his boxers, instead of her panties. He felt his breath tickle the back of his neck, instead of hers. 

But it was her he was exploring, not Scott, as much as he'd fantasize. 

He watched them dance, touch each other, kiss each other. he saw the way her hair was gripped in his hands, his cock rubbing her through the jeans. He saw her eyes dim with ecstasy and then he felt something. Scott looked through the glsitening paint so carefully placed on her jawline, through the mask making her a mysterious mistress. Allison. 

He sucked the rest of his drink back and grabbed Stiles from the bar, pulling at his shoulder. 

"You've got that trailmix?"

"yeah, why?"

"I want a bump,"

"Only if you let me take one with you," Stiles pulled the vial from his pocket, leading Scott to the bathroom. He shoved him through the door, closing it behind them with a lock. The thumpa-thumpa of the bass boomed into the bathroom, through their skulls, and Stiles unscrewed the tiny lid from the vial and took a small sniff, eyes rolling back in his head. "Now, you," He held it up to Scott's face, Scott gripping Stiles' sweaty hands, he steadied the vial and snorted. Stiles took a second hit, his body melting, his cock hard. 

With Stiles looking like he was about to drop it, Scott grabbed the vial and screwed the cap on, shoving it in his pocket. The mix was coursing through him, throbbing through his dick, swelling up, throbbing through his hands. Stiles pushed him against the wall, whispering almost, "Scott, man, do you," he swallowed, "do you remember all the times we almost fucked? Do you remember when I'd be just sitting there with a boner, and you'd be too shy to grab me? So i'd rub myself a bit, until you came over and kissed me?"

Scott's head was leaning on Stiles' shoulder, "I remember you wanting me to blow you, but i was too scared, so we jerked each other instead,"

"And none of that got between us." 

Scott held his head up, "nothing could get between us, buddy,"

Stiles went into scott's pocket, "I want one more." he took a final hit, and gave Scott a kiss, "I love you, Scott, I'll see you later,"

he stumbled out of the bathroom, and back to the bar, "margarita, please," 

"paid for,"

"by who? a fucking ghost?"

"He told me to tell you to look around." the bartender eyed behind Stiles, just a glance, but it was enough to give it away.

Stiles whipped around to find a tall, dark haired, fit guy eating him through his mask with his eyes. Stiles felt his heart thump and this time he knew it wasn't the bass. He knew it wasn't the trailmix either. It was him. Stiles couldn't put his finger on it but there was something about this guy, tall and brooding. Almost like...Derek? It couldn't be Derek, though, Derek's not even in Beacon Hills. And besides, Derek would never buy Stiles a drink, he'd never give him bedroom eyes. He wouldn't want to bend Stiles over the bar and fuck him right there, and that's the farthest thing Stiles wanted from Derek. I mean, Derek never made his cock hard, made him want to drop to his knees

-

Stiles wished he was taller. He wanted to be able to plant his mouth on th and slide his tongue in just enough to give a taste. He wished to not have to go on his tip toes to bite his lip and moan in his ear. He wanted to be able to compete with him for control but he was melting. Stiles didn't know if it was the trailmix or the tequila or what, but he knew that he just wanted to take him right there, and he did. His hands found what he knew couldn't be Derek's belt and unbuckled it fervently, unzipping him and slipping his hand down what definitely couldn't be Derek's boxers, and gripping what absolutely could not be Derek's hard shaft and stroking him hard, feeling the pulse through his cock. Stiles dropped himself to his knees and yanked not-Derek's jeans over his knees, and put him whole in his mouth. He rubbed the shaft and sucked his cock and clawed at his thighs, and grabbing what wasn't Derek's ass, and stared up at the masked man's eyes through his own. 

Those eyes were definitely not Derek's. They couldn't be Derek's.


End file.
